Don't Say It
by if.i.dared.you
Summary: Additional triple backstory for Petey, Gary and Jimmy. Hopefully will add some insight into their selves.


**A/N: **Alright, so this is a triple-backstory filler for Gary, Petey and JimJim. (why do I keep calling him that?) Anyway, so this explains a little about why they are the way they are. I'm warning you - it's seriously, incredibly lame. Please don't hate me! Hope it's not too blasphemous. (By the way, if there's some official backstory that I don't know about, PLEASE TELL ME NOW before I embarrass myself completely by writing a crappy rip off) Please, please, please read and review! The offer for the hugs and chocolate cakes and eternal gratitude is still up for grabs! (Only while stocks last!!)

Peter Kowalski sat folornly on his bed, his hands folded primly in his lap. Tears streaked down his cheeks and he shook with emotion. The house seemed empty without his parents. The hearth lay cold and ashen, the kitchen lightless and lifeless. The little, happy house was suddenly heartless, too big for little Petey. He wanted to hide under his bed like he had done when he was a child. The high-ceilings seemed to lower claustrophobically and a new wave of sobs assaulted his tiny shoulders. It was as if Petey's world had suddenly crashed to the ground around him. The little tween leant forward and rested his head on his knees, hugging his legs as if trying to hold himself together.

He hadn't even known his parents had had marriage problems.

They'd been driving back from dropping him at school. The sun had been shining so brightly that it perplexed Petey how anything could possibly go wrong.

But they'd argued about who was supposed to get custody of Petey. Things had started to get serious. His mother had gotten distracted and lost control of the car, ploughing it into a tree on the winding road home. His mother had been killed instantly. His father had had to suffer in hosptial until he eventually lost consciousness and slipped into a coma. He'd died when a blood vessel had burst in his brain.

All of this he'd learned from scanning a police report when the social security lady had come to take care of him.

He remember what he'd said.

"Don't say it."

And she didn't.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gary Smith's eyes are bloodshot and twitching. He hasn't taken his meds for a month now, and every part of him is shaking, trembling with anger and fear and this certain kind of _energy _that threatens to bubble over and out of him. At the slightest noise his head snaps forward, hands clamped over his ears, and a kind of numbness has come over his legs and arms. It's like pins. He cries out because of the pain in his head and blood streams from his mouth where he's bitten it too hard.

His mother, Lillian Smith, sits in another room, an empty bottle of rum in her hand and an ashy cigarette in the other. James Smith sits on the couch, his eye muscle twitching with lack of sleep.

"We can't do this. It's too much. He has to go."

Lillian nods her head drunkenly before she slams into the table, unconcious. It's her third bottle of Jack Daniels and her body is full of alcohol. The hardwood table shudders, but absorbs the impact. A depression forms at her forehead, causing immediate brain damage. Not that anyone will notice before her eventual death two months later.

Oblivious to his wife's injury and alcohol overdose, James Smith crashes into Gary's darkened room. His son looks up at him with the most hopeless look he'd ever seen. James Smith knew it was over. He had to get his son away from him, because if he didn't, he'd start to see himself even more than he did now. He'd be forced to do something. He couldn't.

He didn't have the strength.

Before the pain in his head bursts and causes red stars to blossom in his vision, Gary's lets out a rasping cry.

"Don't say it."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jimmy struggles in a too-small tuxedo his mother has forced him into, sitting in the front row. The seats are adorned with truly disgusting lilac bows and flowers, and his mother is standing at the altar getting hitched for the fifteenth time, in the dress she wore for her first. The old guy standing next to her is, contrary to seemingly popular opinion, not her father, but her prospective husband-soon-to-be.

Jimmy's memories blur into a sickening jumble and he falls and rests his head on his knees. As the priest finished the ceremony, the boy was seen to groan and mumble something unintelligable. He didn't want this to happen again. It'd set the whole thing into motion again. And Jimmy would just be rejected again by his mother and his stepfather.

"Don't say it."


End file.
